Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

For decades’ worth of comics, Superman, aka Kal-El, aka the Last Son of Krypton, has had galaxy-spanning adventurers. Yet, outside of a few extra-terrestrial threats, the films very rarely depict anything happening beyond our own world. Instead, Superman is portrayed as someone who had been born on another planet but so successfully assimilated into ours that even he describes himself as Clark Kent, a simple farm boy from Kansas… who also happens to be able to fly, change the course of plummeting airplanes, and spin the world backwards. It wasn’t until last year, 2025, when James Gunn’s Superman introduced the new DC Universe added an actual universe. The result was a bit mixed. Those familiar with the comics mostly applauded the cosmic and fantastical elements as more authentic to the tone and history of the character. Those more familiar with the films, primarily the Zach Snyder “realistic” ones, criticized the unfamiliar and colorful elements as superfluous and a bit silly. Still, even with these inclusions, Superman remained firmly grounded in both place and tone. Sure, Earth is under constant threat from aliens and other forces outside our world, but the situation never becomes too dire before our protector emerges to save us.

Bus stops are the same all across the universe.
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Supergirl doesn’t introduce a universe, it tosses us into one. Based on Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow by Tom King and Bilquis Evely, Supergirl drops us headfirst into vast, multi-planetary systems with none of the grounding offered by Superman. Dozens of planets, races, cultures, and languages appear on screen with casual familiarity, portraying the idea that this “new” DC Universe is anything but. The ease with which Kara Zor-El replies to completely alien speech with the “common tongue” (English, of course) tells us that not only are the myriad intergalactic cultures familiar with each other, but humanity itself is no stranger in the stars. The film takes great pains to treat the universe as a living thing that existed long before the story takes place, and will continue long afterward. Yet, at its core, Supergirl revolves around the most universally relatable tragedy imaginable: loss of family, be it parents and siblings, or a beloved pet. Everything else around that is, essentially, flavor.

While it’s refreshing to not spend half of the film slowly assimilating the audience to the situation we already know from the start, it’s also easy to become overwhelmed by the scope and variety of these foreign concepts. Despite several logical gaps – like most of the creatures in the universe speaking English (or “the common tongue”) and Supergirl referencing the Titanic and pop singers – there are times when watching Supergirl can feel like your first day in a new country, wandering from place to place, with your only contact being someone too pre-occupied to guide you. Some people will marvel at the newness and want to absorb all of it. Others will feel lost. Either way, Supergirl isn’t interested in allowing us to become comfortable in one place, not when there’s a dog to save.

At the very least, Krem of the Yellow Hills looks a lot more interesting than the generic redhead of the comics.
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

As a character, Kara Zor-El is a fascinating contrast from her more recognized cousin. Where Kal serves as symbol of hope, even crafting a costume meant to say “we’re good,” everything about Kara screams that she’s far from good. Having experienced the trauma that Kal-El avoided, Kara is a survivor, forever scarred by witnessing the death of her entire race. She is, in the most classic sense, a refugee, living with memories of a home she can never return to. For Kal, Earth is home, the only place he’d ever know. For Kara, Earth is the place she went because her real home is gone and never coming back. This, quite understandably, leaves her isolated and angry, driving her to the self-destructive behavior often found in those living with survivor’s guilt. Why was she, of all people, spared when so many others weren’t? And why was she, unremarkable as she is, chosen to live when billions of more capable others died? For her, life isn’t about building for a better tomorrow, it’s about suffering through another day.

A visual recreation of the online reception to Molly Alcock as Supergirl.
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Speaking of suffering, I’ll spare myself and anyone reading an analysis of the online backlash to Molly Alcock’s casting as Supergirl and simply say Supergirl, and Alcock herself, are easily the best parts of the film. Safe to say, Alcock is a badass, and so is Supergirl. Even Alcock’s pouty, over-it-all appearance is perfect for this character. She isn’t wearing (much) make-up, her hair is always a mess, and she walks around in an old jacket and band t-shirt because she doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her. And why should she? All the people she knew and loved are dead. Her only “family” is her dog and a cousin she’d never met and her only “home” is a planet where she never lived. So why should she concern herself with what a bunch of degenerates, both on screen and off, think of her? Alcock’s casual, dismissive, often disconnected delivery and unimpressed expressions perfectly capture the disaffected attitude of the character. She knows exactly what she’s capable of and doesn’t need anyone’s approval for living. She can hang out in a small spaceship surrounded by old liquor bottles filled with dog piss, because that’s her choice, and no one can stop her. No one, that is, except the filmmakers who seem scared to let Supergirl be Supergirl.

Do millions of losers honestly think this woman is not attractive?
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Supergirl feels like a James Gunn film. The problem is that, it’s not. It wants to be. But it can’t be. The screenplay by first-time screenwriter Ana Nogueira wants so badly to capture the same feeling as Guardians of the Galaxy that it ends up undercutting the intensity of the narrative with weak attempts at lightheartedness. Meanwhile, veteran director Craig Gillespie, who has made good movies in the past – most famously I, Tonya, but my favorite is Lars and the Real Girl, can’t bring together the action required of a two-hundred-million dollar superhero franchise.

Sequences that should choke with intensity come off as minor roadblocks. Scenes that should crackle with energy amount to a few sparkly effects. Action sequences feel less like brutal struggles for survival than a checklist of superhero fights: the fight in the background, the humorously casual comeuppance, the fight filmed as one long shot, and, most egregious of all, the climatic battle set to a somber cover of a 90’s pop song. It wants to swerve into the extremes of humor, action, and emotion of Gunn’s best work (which, in my opinion, is Guardians Vol. 3) but instead stays firmly in the middle of the road, likely in an attempt to please as many people as possible. Rather than the grim, True Grit-inspired story of the source material, we get a colorful yet vaguely defined road trip. Even the film’s attempt at thematic resonance, with an all-male race kidnapping women to continue their species in what could be an almost-too-obvious parallel to the rise in “alpha male” ideology who value women only for trophies and reproduction – an ideology exemplified by the reaction to Alcock herself – doesn’t amount to much more than a passing mention. Again, it feels like the film is scared to allow Supergirl to stand on her own. And this is never more apparent than with Lobo.

Lobo, a fun inclusion that typifies the biggest problems with ‘Supergirl.’
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Don’t get me wrong, Jason Mamoa is wonderful in this part. Lobo is the perfect amalgamation of Mamoa’s past characters, and he clearly has a ball in the role. Trouble is, he either needs to be in the film a lot more, or not at all. Lobo could serve as the antithesis to Kara, counting the latter’s attempts to dissuade Ruthie from the path of revenge with his own gleeful embrace of violence. However, he’s too much of a loner to be anything more than an extended cameo. Worse yet, he’s a convenient deus ex machina, giving the characters an easy way out rather than requiring that they solve problems themselves. Each of his scenes typify Supergirl as a whole: broadly entertaining in the most basic way but disjointed and shallow. He feels like a studio-mandated inclusion that, once again, doesn’t allow Supergirl to be Supergirl.

Calling it now, Eve Ridley is going to have an amazing career.
Image: Warner Bros. Pictures.

At its best, Supergirl is a simple story about two people who have lost everything they knew as home. Alcock as Supergirl captures years of trauma, isolation, and guilt, doing everything she can to prevent Ruthie, played with equal parts uncertainty, rage, and determination by Eve Ridley, from becoming as broken as she is. The strongest moments are seeing these two characters recognize themselves in each other, and attempt to provide what they no longer have. For Kara, it’s preventing Ruthie from becoming the disaffected, isolated, and haunted. For Ruthie, it’s giving Kara something to care for.

Superman is about hope. It’s the story of an immigrant who found a new home. Supergirl is about longing. It’s the story of for people who are still searching for a place to call home. Unlike her cousin, Kara doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere. She’s a stand-in for the millions of us who, for whatever reason, never feel embraced or welcomed anywhere we go. Who have traveled an entire universe yet never felt comfortable enough to form attachments or allow ourselves to be ourselves. It’s sadly ironic, or perhaps wholly appropriate, that Supergirl can’t even find home in her own film.

Rating: 2.5 / 5